Lustrum
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: The Devil You Know missing scenes and tag: Five years has come to this.


**Lustrum**  
K Hanna Korossy

So this was their new normal. Great.

Sam took a pull on his beer, stubbornly ignoring the fact he was sitting on a bed in the dark drinking and moping, just waiting for Dean to come back, like some jilted teenage girl. He'd already called Bobby to commiserate; all that was missing now was some Alanis Morissette and scribbling moody poetry in his diary.

But…but still, he'd hoped for better.

There was the distant sound of a car, and Sam got to his feet and crossed to the window, making a face when the distant flare of running lights in the darkness turned out to be the wrong shape. Yeah, this wasn't totally pathetic. He disconsolately sat back on the decrepit bed and took another drink.

Okay, so he'd known there was no way he could ever make up for starting the Apocalypse. Or, more importantly, for betraying his brother. Dean had forgiven him, Sam knew that, but fixing and forgetting were something else. Nor had he really expected that, but…well, maybe he had. They'd been working together so well as a team the last few months, falling back into step. Then Jo and Ellen's death, Famine's stabbing words, Zachariah's "heaven": they'd all torn Dean down chunk by chunk, until he'd been ready to surrender himself to Michael. But Sam had gotten through to him. He'd believed in Dean, and Dean ended up believing in himself. They'd even faced down a roomful of ticked-off gods together since and come out mostly on top. For the first in a long time, things had felt almost right between them again.

And then Dean had ditched him. For Crowley, a demon.

Yeah, the irony hadn't escaped Sam, either.

Another car. Even as Sam contemplated the point of getting to his feet, the engine got louder, its rumble comfortingly familiar. Dean was back.

With Brady, as it turned out.

Sam wanted to kill him. Skewer him nice and slow with Ruby's knife. Inflict on him some small fraction of the misery Sam had felt losing Jess. Dean had stopped him, however, manhandled him back out of the room, and now they stood glaring at each other while Crowley went in to try to sell the demon.

"I trust you, Sam," Dean said finally. Sam was pretty sure he'd said that already.

"Yeah? That why you left me here and took off with Crowley?"

Dean had his hands up like he was calming a spooked horse. "That had nothing to do with trust—he wouldn't have gone with you, you know that. He didn't even wanna bring Brady back here."

Sam blinked. What?

"C'mon, man, seriously? You really think I'd choose Crowley over you? Dude wouldn't even go into harm's way with me—he let Brady get in his licks before taking him out. Having a demon for back-up's like having a giant target on your back."

The haze of anger was clearing from Sam's eyes, and it let him see some things he hadn't before. Like how Dean's left arm was pressed against his ribs, and the dried blood on the side of his face.

"I trust you, man, I do," Dean continued earnestly. "But it goes both ways, right?"

Sam's shoulders lowered. "Your ribs all right?"

It took Dean a second to switch tracks. "Nothing's broken," he said cautiously.

Sam nodded at the blood. "Head?"

"Didn't pass out." Dean answered promptly this time. He swiped a hand against the side of his head, glancing dispassionately at the red. "Gonna be sore for a few days, but…"

"…probably only have a few days left anyway," Sam finished, nodding, mouth twitching with a near smile he saw echoed in Dean's face.

Desperate times called for desperate measures. Like working—briefly—with a demon. Sam himself had been ready to talk truce with Gabriel not long before. Didn't mean Dean didn't trust him. In fact, if he hadn't, he would have kept Brady far from Sam.

Trust could only be earned if it was offered.

"Sam?" Dean asked, head tilted in silent assessment. _You with me?_

"Yeah," Sam said quietly, anger gone. "Okay." He took a breath. "I'm gonna take a walk, clear my head."

"Good." Dean was still eyeing him. "No stabbing the car again."

Sam rolled his eyes, recognizing the miracle it was that Dean hadn't brought the matter up before. Not like he could have known Crowley would blink out a split-second before blade met upholstery, but… "Jerk," Sam grumbled, turning away.

And felt the awful tension inside him ease a fraction more at the "bitch" that was tossed off after him.

00000

And here he'd been thinking things had gone pretty well.

Yeah, Sam hadn't been thrilled about being left behind while Dean and Crowley went on their mission; Dean got that. More than Sam would even know. But it had been necessary, and in the end Dean had thought he'd made his preferences pretty clear—seriously, like he would ever, ever pick _anyone_, let alone a demon, over Sam—and Sam had seemed to calm down and get on board. Even asked about how Dean was doing. Which had reminded him that he had some blood to wash off, which meant his going into the bathroom.

Which gave Sam the opening to jam the door and lock him inside while… Well, Dean didn't have many illusions about what Sam was going to do.

He could've broken the door down. Or slid something through the space between the crooked door and the floor to slide the chair out of place. Or pushed his way out the small window. For that matter, none of the walls looked particularly sturdy.

But Dean didn't. If Sam wanted at Brady that bad, Dean wasn't going to stop him. So what if the demon was their only lead to Pestilence, and the third ring, and their last shining hope of caging Lucifer?

So what if he'd trusted Sam to keep his cool and Sam had turned on him first chance he got?

Dean dropped down onto the filthy toilet and propped his elbows on his knees and his aching head in his hands. Muffled a little the sounds of his brother's angry voice through the thin walls. Well, what had Dean honestly expected? Sam's anger had started building the second something had pinned his girlfriend against the ceiling and lit her on fire. Was it really that much of a surprise that Sam wouldn't be able to resist taking out the demon that had set Jessica up for the fall in the first place? After all, there was trust, and then there was being only human.

But still he'd hoped…

Silence outside. Dean's head came up. _Aw, Sam…_ He stood and checked the door, thumped it once, looked around, then banged on the door again. "Come on!"

There was the scrape of the chair outside. _"Hey, hey, hey! All right! Wait!" _Sam called back._ "I'm gonna open it."_ The door rattled and swung wide.

Dean strode out, past his brother. "What happened?"

"Nothing."

He didn't believe it at first., but Sam was right. Brady was maybe a little bloodier than before, but he was still smirkingly alive.

And then Crowley showed up. With a hellhound on his heels.

It was kind of a blur after that, getting Brady out of there and all three of them hightailing it in the car while two hellhounds, Crowley's shadow versus his own pet, tore up the shack behind them.

For a few minutes, they just whipped down the road in silence. Sam had slapped some duct tape over Brady's mouth the first time the demon started to speak, and Crowley had promised to meet them at the address he'd given Dean, so thankfully there was no peanut gallery. Dean just focused on driving, and sometimes glancing back into the rear view, looking for an unseeable tail.

"It's not gonna come after us," Sam said quietly.

"Yeah? You bettin' on invisible dogfights now?" Dean snapped back.

"We ditched the tracker," Sam answered, unruffled. "It wouldn't know where to look."

"Once those things get your scent…" Dean's hands twisted on the steering wheel.

"It was tracking Crowley, not us."

Sam sounded so calm, so sure, Dean felt himself daring to believe him and slowly uncoiling. The cold sweat that had broken out all over at the first sound of the hound clung his shirt to his back. "Yeah, well. We haven't exactly had the best luck with those things," Dean mumbled.

Sam gave him a look, the same one he'd given Dean back in the panic room when he'd told Dean he trusted him. "I know," he said.

He did. He'd been there when the hellhound had torn Dean's soul from his body and dragged it to Hell. He'd been there when the hellhounds had stalked them in Carthage and ripped Jo apart before their eyes. He'd killed the one survivor of that attack when it had come after Dean days later. If anyone knew just how much terror the howl of one of those hellmutts sent pumping through Dean's veins, it was Sam.

And he hadn't ended Brady, not even when he'd had a clear shot and every reason to. This wasn't the Sam who'd nearly killed his brother in that hotel room and then walked off with Ruby. This was the Sam who'd had faith in Dean to do the right thing when even Cas and Bobby had given up on him. It was only fair Dean return the favor.

He glanced into the mirror again, this time at the back seat. Brady's mouth might have been taped, but his eyes were keen as they stared back. Dean cleared his throat and glanced over at Sam. "So, you gonna find this place Crowley wants to meet?"

Sam gave him a sharp look, eyes quickly softening into understanding. They didn't have to spill their guts, especially not in front of a demon, to know what the other was thinking. _I'm sorry, too. _Sam just dug his phone out and started reeling off quiet directions.

Dean didn't look in the rear view mirror again.

00000

They got what they needed from Brady. The only thing that remained was the clean-up.

"All yours, Sammy," Dean said just for his ears. "I'll be right back here."

Sam blinked at him, clearly surprised by the offer. Then he looked at Brady and his face hardened. He didn't even notice as Dean slipped away to get the salt.

They left the corpse there; at least Brady's family would get some closure. Sam wiped the blade in silence before getting into the car, and Dean gave the alley and the body a last look before following him.

"Feel any better?" he asked once they got out of town and hit the highway, heading for Iowa and Pestilence.

"You mean, did sticking a knife into my old friend let off some of the anger?" Sam asked almost whimsically.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, sure."

Sam thought about it a moment. "You know, I think it did. I mean, I remember when Brady went off the rails, how worried we all were about him. He had everything going for him, and he threw it all away. I don't know if the demon in him really killed Jess or if it was just egging me on, but it killed Brady and brought Jess into this. Felt good to kill it."

Dean slowly nodded. "And what it said…?"

Sam snorted. "Dude, I'm Lucifer's chosen one. You think _this _got to me?" He turned to Dean. "How 'bout you? You still looking over your shoulder?"

Dean gave him a look, clearly surprised by the sudden switch to concern. And maybe a little bit by Sam knowing how much the hellhound had rattled him. "Naw, ribs hurts too much," Dean deflected.

Sam frowned. "Dean…"

"I'm okay, Sammy. Really."

Sam looked at him, hard, before finally nodding and settling back into his seat.

Dean glanced at him a few times, then turned the tape deck on, slid Motorhead in.

They had no audience now, but there was still no need to say it. It had taken five years, but they'd finally come full circle: on the road, hunting things, on the wrong side of the odds trying to save the world.

Shoulder to shoulder.

**The End**


End file.
